From a Fountain
by Sorsha711
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he’d find her. JB/OFC
1. Chapter 1 Rondine al Nido

Title: From a Fountain, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI. The rest is mine, for better or worse.  
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, a purpose… a partner, not to mention a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he'd find it… her.

_"Water from a fountain quenches the excessive heat which would destroy this life."_  
_Nicola Salvi_

_From a Fountain_**,** Chapter 1 --- _Rondine al Nido_

-----

His first instinct had been to retreat to his house and catch the 'single-malt express'… try to wipe the scene of another senseless murder from the forefront of his memory. The idea of spending his night in a noisy, crowded bar surrounded by strangers held no appeal. Instead, something had led him to the crowded sidewalk in front of the Bellagio.

The press of tourists was already beginning to build in anticipation of the next performance of its famed fountain. While he normally loved, even thrived on, the energy of the Vegas Strip, the jostling crowd was quickly irritating his already overwrought nerves. /Screw this… time to head home and… damn! Days like this it doesn't seem much like home. Sleep… yeah, sleep is what I need./

Still, he found himself lingering, leaning against the ornate balustrade circling the fountain's manmade lake. His gaze had become fixed on a woman taking pictures of the milling crowd, the light from the setting sun gilding her carefully composed features. Unsure of why she had captured his attention, he let his eyes drift over her face and form for clues. He quickly dismissed the likelihood their paths had crossed before… though the nagging feeling he knew her teased at the edges of his thoughts.

Brass tilted his head to the left to see around the bulk a matronly woman that had temporarily blocked his line of sight as she paused to drain the last of a garishly colored drink from the bottom of the plastic replica of the Eiffel Tower. The slight wobble that accompanied the effort suggested she wasn't accustomed to drinking so much, especially this early in the evening… or that this wasn't her first 'tower'. A tall, overly thin man with the start of a promising sunburn glowing on the top of his balding head turned back to loop his arm lovingly around her waist, an empty Stratosphere souvenir glass in his left hand.

The first hint of a smile brightened the hard edges of Brass' face as he watched the pair squeeze into one of the few openings left with a good view of the fountain. A much younger couple rolled their eyes and took position behind them, the young man's whispered, "We need to get Mom and Dad to eat something soon or they're going to be sick," was a sentiment he hardily endorsed… assuming it wasn't already too late.

Looking back at the woman he had been watching, he was intrigued by the mix of emotions clearly evident in her expression. The tolerant amusement he understood, but the sad, even wistful sigh that accompanied it held his attention. It took him a moment to realize why… that it mirrored his own reaction, perhaps his own loneliness. He had simply been better at hiding his sadness than she had. After over thirty years on the job, he knew he had a poker face the like of which any professional gambler would envy.

A fleeting mental grin accompanied the thought, /… if only I had luck with the cards!/

Shifting to rest his left elbow on the stone cap of the corner column, he sorted through her features trying to decide how to categorize her on his personal ratings scale. /Pretty… very pretty, but not really beautiful. Petite… maybe 5'2" or 3", so even in heels she would be shorter than me. Light blond hair… hazel eyes, more green than brown. Maybe… early, mid 40's. Slim not skinny… sweet curves in all the right places. I do love curvy woman… and this one's a 'Pocket Venus'./

A faint sigh was quickly disguised as a deep breath as he let his focus shift to watch the first jets of water blast from fountain, the soothing tones of the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti swelling from the speakers hidden in the column beside his left hip. /OK, she's exactly my type; not going to do me any good though. I'm getting too old for a weekend fling with another tourist… assuming she's even interested. Probably a husband or boyfriend around… doesn't look the type to hit Vegas alone. Dressed too conservatively for a Saturday night of partying... plus, way too trusting and naïve for her own good. She isn't even keeping an eye out for pickpockets… or strangers eying her up./

Unable to stop himself, he looked her way again. The hint of a smile the tipsy couple had inspired faded, leaving his face an unreadable mask. She had put her camera away for the moment and was watching the fountain with absolute absorption. A single tear slipped down her right cheek, swept away by a distracted hand. The stiff breeze that had been blowing all day whipped her shoulder length hair around her face, its erratic movement at odds with the utter stillness of her features. A faint shiver coursed down her back despite the temperature hovering in the low 90's, hot for early March even by Vegas standards.

The water softly settled back into the quiet of the pond as the jets slipped from view, the press of the crowd thinning quickly in the wake of the show. A small flock of ducks appeared along the edge of the lake hoping for a free meal of bread crumbs thrown by the next group of spectators. Still, the woman lingered, lost in her private thoughts. Even from six feet away, he could make out the faint whisper that slipped from her lips.

"You'd have loved it, Drew. It's not fair that you never got to see it… Vegas, but… life isn't fair, is it, sweetie?"

It didn't take a trained detective to figure out the unspoken part of her whispered, one-sided conversation. Someone named Drew… probably short for Andrew, had wanted to come to Vegas… see the fountains, but never got the chance. That thought led to the next logical conclusion; that her Drew had died before the opportunity to accompany her to the desert had presented itself. It also explained the tear, the tremor… the wistful look on her face as she watched the older couple snuggle in companionable, if slightly drunken, contentment into their place by the balustrade.

A second sigh, this one clearly audible, left his lips as he realized he was genuinely disappointed… being the host of a Vegas vacation fling was depressing enough at this point in his life. Having a fling of any sort with a grieving woman mourning the loss of a husband or lover she obviously still loved was definitely not in the cards. He didn't need the hassle and she didn't need the guilt. He was still feeling the blowback from his ill-advised affair with Rita Nettles and the last thing he needed was more of the same. Still, something about her intrigued him… a fact that left him feeling confused and disappointed by their brief 'almost' encounter.

/Time to go home, old man,/ he mused. /A few drinks and I'll forget I was even tempted. I'll have forgotten her face before I make it back to the car./ Something about that last thought didn't quite ring true, even to his jaded ears. /Last thing I need is another weepy woman like Rita… though I doubt there are many like that sorry bitch./

Starting to turn away, Brass' blue eyes met and locked with the hazel gaze of the woman he had been studying. Apparently, his sigh had been loud enough to be heard… loud enough to capture her attention. /Great! Awkward moments are such a blast!/

"First time seeing the Fountains?" /Damn! Why did I open my…/

A faint nod. "Yeah. I've been putting off coming here since I moved to Vegas. They're… lovely."

An odd tugging sensation held him captive to the conversation. /Not a tourist… still, I so don't need a needy, grieving woman in my life. I have enough of my own problems.../

Even knowing that, he found himself asking, "How long you been in town?"

Sighing, the woman turned to stare out across the lake. "Since the middle of January."

A graying eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry. "Why did it take you so long? The Fountains are usually one of the first stops everybody makes when they hit town."

Swimming hazel eyes slowly turned back to study her companion in the now deserted semicircular bump-out installed by the hotel-casino's designers to allow those viewing the fountain to queue out of the main flow of the pedestrians on the sidewalk. "It seemed too much like… saying goodbye again."

Nodding slightly, he murmured, "Husband?"

A jerky shake of the head. "No… my son. Drew saw a TV program once… about the engineering and construction of the fountains. Talked about it for days afterwards. He wanted to be an engineer, so the how's of making this work intrigued him. He planned to move here after college, but… I ended up here instead."

"What…" he began, belatedly realizing how intrusive his questions had become. "I'm sorry. I have no right to pry."

"Iraqi."

"Pardon?"

"Iraqi," she repeated, the soft, slightly slurred endings of her words hinted she was from somewhere in the American south. The husky, broken quality of her voice underscored her grief. "Drew joined the Marines out of high school… to earn money for college. He died in Iraqi three years ago."

Watching as a second tear slipped down her cheek, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Nodding slightly, she seemed to settle into herself. "I should be the one apologizing to you. I'm sorry if I put a damper on your evening. Listening to someone talking about war and death isn't much of a way to spend your Saturday night."

"No apologies needed," he promised, a rueful smile failing to erase the dark images of the latest murder scene he had worked from his mind. "I'm not even sure why I came down here tonight instead of going home, but… let's just say my mood was already pretty damp before I got here."

"That bad, Captain?"

Startled, Brass straightened from his leaning position and faced her. "How did…"

Pointing to the front of his suit jacket, she half smiled… a faint lifting of the corners of her lips, but a smile that failed to reach her eyes. "You're wearing your badge."

An embarrassed groan accompanied a nod as he reached up to detach his badge from the pocket shield he habitually wore while on duty. After slipping both securely into the inner pocket of his jacket, he admitted, "I didn't realize I still had that on. I guess I was… distracted when I left my office. Jim Brass."

Reaching over to accept the hand he extended in her direction, she offered, "Julie… Julie Littlejohn."

The handshake lasted a little longer than the standard quick press of fingers typical for a casual greeting… involved the actual clasping of hands, but neither noticed that fact for several seconds. Both were distracted by the tingling sensation that coursed through their bodies as their hands came into contact. Jim finally let hers drop as he noticed the blush spreading over her throat as the moment became awkward.

Suddenly unwilling to step away and watch her walk off… unsure what, if anything, he could do to stop her, he offered, "Look…can I buy you a drink… or cup of coffee? I know we just met, but… the thought of going home to an empty house isn't really something I want to face at the moment. Somehow, I get the feeling you might be feeling the same way."

Brass watched the play of emotions flitter across her expressive face… surprise, a touch of panic… interest… uncertainty… a hint of anticipation. "I…"

Tapping the front of his jacket over the top of his now hidden badge, he found himself grinning genuinely for the first time since going on-shift the night before. "Cop… sworn to protect and serve. Just a drink, nothing more. Hell, my nickname when I was with the Newark PD was Squeaky… as in squeaky-clean, so I should be safe enough."

A quiet laugh, also genuine, was his reward. "Maybe, but something tells me safe isn't the best word to describe you, Captain."

The crime scene from earlier in the day shifted to the back of his mind for the moment. Chuckling, he felt his eyebrows waggle in a playful leer. A second laugh encouraged him to offer her his arm.

-----

A/N: I made a trip to Vegas about a year ago and this story came to me was I playing tourist. The recording of Luciano Pavarotti singing _Rondine Al Nido_ was playing when I stopped to watch the Fountains dance for the first time. It was late afternoon and the sun was bouncing off of the buildings and dancing on the water. Obviously, it was an amazing sight, so I decided to gift it to Jim and Julie. The bittersweet quality of the aria seemed to fit their first meeting… it seems to suit Jim.

Anyway, one of the ducks in the pond transformed into a plot bunny and attached itself to my leg. I had to pay extra when I checked my bags at the airport because the damned thing refused to let go. I decided I had better start writing if I wanted to avoid some nasty scars, maybe walking with a limp permanently! I have twelve chapters (not all contiguous sadly up to and including the Epilogue) that have been sitting on my hard-drive since last summer. Yes, I have a little problem… I get an idea and have to start a fic while the muse is whispering. Sigh, I have a total of nine open WIP's in my Brass folder alone! I was trying not to have too many open WIP's out there, but…

So, why am I posting this now? RL is playing hell with my life… a very painful back injury, nasty sinus infection, and severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic that **both** the doctor and pharmacy knew I was going to be allergic to but neither caught it in time to keep…. Crapfest barely scratches the surface of this month!!! Until I get some of the meds all of this has necessitated out of my system and get caught back up at work, I lack the mental focus to make any progress on final edits of the next chapter of _By Design_, so I'm starting the posting of this one since it only needed a few little tweaks (and the Rita references… had to add those!).

Hope you like how this one starts. Feedback work be great… and/or a few friendly notes would be real moral boost at this point! I'm using my best 'puppy dog' eyes as I write this… though I'm not sure how focused they are! LOL

Finally, in case you're interested, the lyrics to the referenced aria follow with the English translation in parenthesizes. There are some pretty good videos of the Fountains playing this song on _YouTube_ if you want the visual. I saw it play quite a few other songs while I was there, but this one was the most moving and special… at least to me.

_"Rondine al nido" by Vencenzo De Crescenzo_

_Sotto la gronda della torre antica una rondine amica,  
(Under the eaves of an ancient tower a friendly swallow)_

_Allo sbocciar del mandorlo é tornata. Ritorna tutti gli anni,  
(is back, for the blooming of the almond tree. It comes back every year)_

_Sempre alla stessa data; Monti e mare essa varca per tornar.  
(always on the same date; Mountains and seas it crosses to come back.)_

_Solo amore quando fugge e va lontano  
(Only love when it flees and goes far)_

_Speri invano e non torna piú. Nella penombra dolce della sera passa la primavera.  
(You fruitlessly hope, but it will never come back. In the sweet evening dim light spring passes.)  
Cinguettano le rondini nel volo, Ebbre di luce e d'aria._

_(Flying swallows in the dim light, inebriated with light and air.)_

_Ed io son triste e solo; Monti e mare tu non varchi per tornar.  
(And I am sad and alone; mountains and seas you don't cross to come back.)_

_Mia piccina, fosti tutta la mia vita; Sei fuggita e non torni piú.  
(My little girl, you were all my life. You went and never came back.)_

-----

6-23-2009


	2. Chapter 2 Blame it on Hollywood

Title: From a Fountain, Chapter 2

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he'd find her. JB/OFC

_"Water from a fountain quenches the excessive heat which would destroy this life."_  
_Nicola Salvi_

_From a Fountain_**,** Chapter 2 --- Blame it on Hollywood

-----

The small lounge nestled at the back of the sprawling casino seemed jarringly quiet and peaceful after the bright lights, echoing noise, and overly energetic crowds of the gambling floor. The piano in the center of the semicircle of tables was unattended for the moment and less than a third of the lounge's seats were occupied. Brass pointed to a table strategically located well away from the stage, yet far enough from the door that the din of the casino wouldn't drown out any attempt at conversation.

Waiting until she had taken a seat in one of the two chairs, he shifted the second so that he was seated a lot closer than was the norm in a restaurant. "Gal that plays the piano here is pretty good, but it can be tough to have a conversation without shouting once she gets going."

A surprisingly mischievous grin accompanied her leaning in to tap the front of his jacket over the slight bulge of his hidden badge. "I did figure that out on my own, Squeaky. I didn't think you were planning to jump me once the lights are dimmed and the show starts… clearly not something that falls under the heading of 'protect and serve'."

Brass let his head drop as a smile ghosted over his face, its transition to a smirk barely halted by the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that! I had to move all the way across the country to escape that damned name once already."

"OK, no more Squeakies," she promised, the sudden twinkle in her green-gold eyes making him doubt that. "So you moved to escape a bad nickname. Newark I think you said… New Jersey?"

That caused him to laugh. "With my ascent, you have to ask?"

"Well… I would have guessed New Jersey, but there are other Newarks aren't there? Besides, I can't claim to be an expert on ascents of the non-southern variety," she admitted, a smile still lurking at the corners of her mouth. "How long have you lived in Las Vegas?"

"Over twenty years," he offered, signaling a waitress. "Place has changed a lot… most of the old landmarks have been demoed for newer places. Can't find a decent pizza anywhere, but it's been a pretty sweet place to call home otherwise… though the recent collapse of the economy is making it tougher than ever to be a cop."

"I take it the crime rate is up?" she gently prompted.

Rubbing his neck, he nodded. "And then some, but let's save that topic for another day."

A small smile accompanied a nod of agreement. Satisfied that he had managed to introduce the idea that he was interested in possible future dates into the conversation without her jumping up and running for the door, he asked, "So… where in the south is home for you?"

"South Carolina originally… a small town near Charleston, but I lived in Atlanta for the last twenty-five years." Pausing, Julie smiled in greeting to their waitress. "Gin and tonic, please… extra lime."

"Glenlivet on the rocks, Connie … and bring us the bar menu with the drinks. I missed both breakfast and lunch so I really need to grab something to eat," Jim inserted, as he reached over to grab a handful of nuts from the bowl she placed on the table.

Nodding, the older woman replied, "Sure thing, Jim. Glenlivet usually means a rough day."

"Lately, they all are," he agreed, refusing to say more. "How's Tony doing?"

Sighing, she offered, "Chemo's kicking him in the ass, but the doctors think they found the cancer early enough we've got a good shot. We're taking it one day at a time and hoping for the best."

"He's a good guy… great cop," Jim offered. "Tell him I said hello… that we're all expecting him back on the job before much longer. Olson is driving his temp partner up the wall, so Suarez is counting the days until he's back."

A tired smile greeted his words. "I'll tell him. I'm working extra shifts to help make ends meet, so Alan and Sue have been helping me get him back and forth to the clinic for his treatments… he's too sick afterwards to drive himself home. I appreciate you working out letting them swap times on the duty roster those days. Don't know how we'd manage otherwise."

"Hang in there, honey," Brass soothed, reaching over to pat her arm. "Let us know if you need anything and we'll make it happen."

Looking over at Julie, Connie instructed, "Jim's as fine a man as you're ever likely to meet, so treat him right. Well, I need to get back to work… nobody tips a slow waitress. I'll have your drinks and the menu out to you two in a couple."

A faint flush darkened the ruddy tones of Brass's face and neck as the waitress hurried away. "Well, that was… awkward. I promise I didn't bring you here expecting a sales pitch. I…"

"Relax; I didn't think you had… just that you have a fan." A sweet smile accompanied the gentle hand that covered his on the table. "I think it's great you're helping them. I had a friend go through the same thing when her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. His office didn't do more than send a few cards and a fruit basket. Luckily, Steve had a large family living in the area, so they picked up the slack. Thank God he's in remission and doing well."

Relieved she hadn't made his squirm, Jim observed, "Hope we can say the same a few years down the road. Cops are usually pretty good about pitching in to help each other… crime scene or cancer. If you're not there for one, how can we trust someone to be there for the other? Besides, being a cop is hard enough… pay sucks, hours are worse… stress can eat you up."

"I get that," Julie acknowledged, sensing he wanted to say more… maybe even needed to discuss something that was eating at him, a wound that had yet to heal. Instinct urged her to refrain from asking… at least for the moment, but she had the nagging feeling there was more to his mood than simply a bad day on the job. Memories haunted his eyes, ghosts that only he could see.

Instead, she asked, "Is he doing as well as she says or is it just wishful thinking?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "Can't say for sure… probably a little of both. We're all still keeping it positive. Tony was one of the first cops I meet when I moved here. Connie's worked here for ages, so I make it a point to check by every week or so… just to be sure she knows she's got help too."

Nodding, she fell silent for the few minutes it took for the waitress to deposit their drinks on the table, the requested menu slipped into Brass's left hand. Flipping it open so she could study it with him, he commented, "You can get pretty much anything off their bar menu… they added a tapas section a year or so ago. Interested in sharing a couple… on me?"

"I can't. You only offered…" she began, only to have him interrupt.

"I'm trying to impress a beautiful lady enough so she might go out for a real dinner with me sometime soon, so let's not quibble over the details," he inserted, a smile twinkling in his dark blue eyes. The ghosts had slipped into the shadows for the moment. "Anything you're particularly in the mood for tonight?"

Shaking her head, Julie admitted, "Not really… and there's very little in the way of food I don't like. I've never been here, so order what looks good to you."

Pretending to give the menu his undivided attention, Jim pressed, "And those few dislikes would be?"

Meeting his gaze over the top of the laminated page, she teased, "Am I being interrogated, Captain?"

"I guess I'm a little out of practice in the 'impressing beautiful women' department if I sound like I'm grilling a perp," he lamented. "OK, I'll play fair and start."

Pausing to take a sip of his drink, he began, "Let's see… I hate sweet and sour anything… goat anything, especially cheese… love shrimp and lobster; fish is OK if it's cooked right, but there's nothing better than a thick steak, medium-well with a huge baked potato smothered in butter and gobs of sour cream. I've never met anything sweet I didn't like, but I'll take a lemon dessert before anything else."

"Well, that counts as a serving of fruit, right?" she teased.

"Of course… but I actually like most vegetables and fruits, just don't tell anyone. I have a tough-guy rep to uphold," he joked, grabbing another handful of the peanuts.

"Got it… meat and potatoes, nothing girly."

Saluting her with a tip of his glass, Jim complimented, "You catch on fast."

"Thank you, Captain. I try." Running a finger down the side of her glass to catch the droplets of moisture, she urged, "What else?"

"A burger is my idea of heaven on a bun… no onions... cheddar, no provolone or some other cheese that has no place near a really good hunk of meat," he instructed, watching her finger with a certain amount of fascination, wondering if she realized just how provocative that subtle motion was. "McDonalds will go out of business if they're depending on me to keep them afloat…but I occasionally grab a Carl's Jr. and I have to confess… I'm addicted to In-N-Out, especially their shakes."

"And there is seriously nowhere to get really good pizza this side of the Mississippi, so I wait until I'm visiting back east to feed the need." Forcing his eyes back to her face, he concluded, "Last, but not least some days, I enjoy a beer or the occasional glass of wine, but I prefer a good scotch. Your turn."

"Wow… OK," she agreed, a smile warming her face as she responded to his playful mood. "I'm allergic to pineapple… odd I know, but there you are, so I have to be careful with some cuisines. I pretty much agree with everything you said. I love fish and seafood of all types, but too many years of canned tuna or salmon had about killed my taste for both. I can't comment on the pizza issue, since I haven't had any since I moved here. I think New York is better than Chicago if that redeems me. I love citrus anything and consider chocolate a basic requirement of life… air, water, and chocolate, and not necessarily in that order."

Grinning at his attempt at solemn agreement, she continued. "I confess I occasionally hit Micky D's for their Egg-McMuffin, but that's the extent of my heresy. I have the odd craving for a double-cheeseburger from BK, but I try to keep that a secret. I've never been to an In-N-Out… but it's hard to top a Varsity burger and onion rings, so I don't feel I've missed much. And, before you ask, the Varsity Drive-in is an Atlanta institution. Otherwise, I'm not much for fried food… except for my mom's friend chicken."

"Shrimp is probably my favorite food… or maybe grilled lamb chops," she offered. "I grew up on the coast, so fresh shrimp was a staple of life. We would buy them directly off the boats at the docks in Georgetown… that, or my brothers would go shrimping and crabbing in the marshes. There is seriously nothing in the world like the taste of fresh shrimp!"

"Did you go with them…" he asked, "…fishing and shrimping?"

A wistful smile preceded, "Sometimes, but it bothered me too much seeing the catch after we caught it… it made me feel guilty. I was too much a 'girly girl' I guess. I never enjoyed the food if I helped catch it… or worse yet, was in the kitchen when the crabs went in the pot. I hate the sound of them tapping on the side trying to get out! I guess that makes me sound like a wuss."

"There are worse things to be," Jim teased, oddly comforted by her admission. Some days, he dealt with far too many people that had no such aversion to killing, crab or person. "So… what else?"

"Well… I seldom drink scotch or beer," she added, "I'm more a wine or gin kind of girl… but, I don't drink all that much in any case; two is usually my limit unless I want to make an idiot of myself. I… please don't hold this against me… I tend to giggle and smile too much if I have more than two. It's embarrassing!"

Chuckling, he pointed to the menu. "OK… I've been warned. So, how about #'s 7, 9, 17, 34 and 47? Oh… and # 55. What? I told you I haven't eaten all day… I'm starving!"

-----

The food had far exceeded her modest expectations for 'bar food'; his choices had all been delicious. The singer/piano player had been 'pretty good' as promised… but just loud enough to force them to take a break in their conversation. As the applause from the modest crowd died away as the singer took another break, Julie took a tiny sip of the third drink that had magically appeared before her.

She planned to nurse this one for a long time; she'd deliberately left out the fact she also became 'touchy/huggy' in addition to 'giggly/smiley' if she had too much to drink. There was no way to tell a man she'd just met that without it seeming… like encouragement. Flings or one-night stands were completely outside of her limited range of experience in the dating arena. Having drinks and an impromptu meal with a man she had just met was as close as she had come. It was also as close to a date as she had had in years.

Watching him out of the corner her eye, she noted the lull in conversation caused by the lounge show had allowed him to refocus on whatever was bothering him. Instinct insisted he needed to talk… at least vent the frustration his most recent shift had generated. Trying to sound as casual as possible, she asked, "So, it was a rough day?"

Catching her gaze, he finally nodded. "Yeah, but I mostly work homicide cases. Only good days we get are days where nothing happens… or we break a case. Days we get a new one… those are never good."

Waiting until after he has swallowed a healthy portion of his scotch, she offered, "Want to talk about whatever's eating at you… or would you prefer to completely forget about it for the evening?"

Finishing the rest of his drink in a single gulp, he studied the ice clinking around in the bottom of his glass. "Both… like most people, I want my cake whole and pretty so I can keep it intact to admire, but I want to eat the end piece with all the extra icing too."

Letting her gaze join his in contemplation of the ice, Julie prompted, "Your choice, but I'm a pretty good listener."

"Hummm…"

An oddly comfortable silence settled over their table, broken only by Connie's arrival with a fresh drink for Brass. Nodding his thanks, he let the amber liquid swirl hypnotically over the ice for a minute before taking a small sip. "Been doing what I do too long to expect most of it to make sense, beautiful… murders I mean. I can't tell you how many nights sleep I've lost trying to understand what makes a person kill a stranger, much less someone they were supposed to love. Those days are the hardest ones to take. Today was one of those days."

Jim looked up to meet her eyes when she failed to respond. He found her patiently watching him, waiting for him to say what he needed to say in his own way… at his own pace. Something about her expression hinted she understood more than he knew… urged him to continue. "I work graveyard, so we generally get more than our share of the rough cases. Bad things really do happen at night… but this one…"

"I was at my desk… just after 4 in the morning, buried in paperwork and looking for any excuse to get out of the office when…" he began, only to pause and visibly regroup. "A young woman… actually, she's 16, so she's not much more than a child. Anyway, she came to the front desk and asked to see me… had seen me on TV about another case last week. I was a name she knew so I guess that made me a safe choice."

"She was carrying a baby… pretty little girl wrapped up in a pink blanket," he whispered. "I stood up when she came through the door… motioned for her to take a seat across from me but… she walked around my desk and… handed me the baby."

Sighing, he admitted, "That caught me off guard. Then, I noticed the blood splatter on the front of her shirt… on her arms; the baby blanket had been covering it up. A 16 year-old with a baby asking for a homicide cop at 4 in the morning never bodes well for a happy ending. One covered in blood… that's a no-brainer."

They were sitting so close she felt as much as saw the shudder that coursed through his tense body as the memory of that moment replayed itself in his thoughts. Jim's voice broke slightly as he tried to continue and he stopped to clear his throat. "Seems she and her boyfriend had run away from home when she realized she was pregnant… from a small town in Wyoming. They headed for Vegas hoping to hide in the crowd. That works for most runaways… so well, they get lost… lost forever."

A soft hand covered his a second time, the soothing touch grounding him as she gently stoking the fingers that clinched the glass in his hand… eased it free of his hold before it could shatter under the force of his grip. "It didn't work for them. Her father tracked them down. She'd come to turn herself in… told me I'd find the bodies in a dump in 'the Alphabets' where they had been living."

A faint, "Dear God!" drew his eyes back to hers. Jim clearly read the horror in their depths, vaguely noting that the hazel seemed more a muddy brown than green at the moment. That thought bothered him. He'd already decided he preferred them green with a ring of gold around the center.

"The girl… Carrie… had been at work… small diner off Charleston, when her father arrived at their apartment. Derrick, the boyfriend, had been home alone watching the baby… Rose, they named her Rose," he whispered. "Bastard shot the kid in the chest when he opened the door… never gave him a chance. He was waiting on her on the couch… feeding the baby a bottle, when she got there just after 1… mad because Derrick hadn't been at the bus stop to walk her home. In that part of town… they must have been savvier than most runaways."

The hand that had been gripping the glass turned to grip hers in a crushing hold as he sought an anchor to steady his emotions. "Her father told her to shut up… stop her 'caterwauling' and pack her things… she was going home where she 'belonged'. Then, he calmly got up and walked over to the basket they had been using as the baby's crib… carefully put Rose down for a nap… then wrapped his fingers around her neck. Carrie grabbed a pair of scissors off the dresser… stabbed the bastard in the back, but it was too late."

A gasp of horror slipped from her lips. "The baby…"

"Dead… bastard snapped her neck," Jim supplied. "Seems he was a 'pillar of the community' and didn't want to have his reputation sullied by her bringing home an illegitimate baby. He had apparently been terrorizing his family for years… so, Carrie and Derrick fled when she realized she was pregnant. They knew they had to disappear before he found out… killed them both. Bastard expected her to docilely go back to Wyoming… ignore two murders, including her daughter's."

"So there I stood… holding this beautiful little baby in my arms… knowing she was dead… but… she looked like she was sleeping peacefully," he murmured. "The mom was… in shock. She has these big blue eyes. Her eyes keep coming back to me. No tears… empty. Over thirty years as a cop… nothing prepares you for something like that."

The hand he had been clinching had tightened its hold on his… was crushing his fingers as surely as he was crushing hers. That startled him back to the moment. "I'm sorry, Julie. I had no right…"

The fingers of her other hand lifted to press gently against his lips, halting his apology before he could finish it. "No… you needed to talk, so don't apologize. I just wish there was something I could say to make this easier… make it make sense, but there isn't… is there?"

Looking up, he watched the tears swimming in her eyes, a few overflowing to trickle down her pale face. "No… no. But… it did help talking about it. Maybe I needed to be reminded I can still feel horror and revulsion. Some days… I worry there's nothing left… that I've become dead inside from too many Carries and too much booze."

The fingers that had covered his lips slipped away in a soothing caress of his cheek. "It doesn't look like either one is the case… thought I suspect you almost wish it were. You still care… feel, Jim. We've just met and I saw that from the beginning. You have to be tough to do what you do but … I think you still have to care to be any good at it."

"Like you said, we just met…"

Breaking in she agreed. "Yeah we did, but consider this. I somehow doubt you would have noticed a stranger crying in that mob scene in front of the fountain, much less bothered to try and comfort her, if you were as numb and unfeeling as you're suggesting."

A small spark flared to life in his tired blue eyes. "Well… maybe my noticing had more to do with the fact that stranger was a beautiful woman… one too many Gary Cooper movies as a kid."

A soft smile proceeded, "I'd have guessed John Wayne."

"Him too. Blame it on Hollywood."

Holding his gaze, she shook her head. "Nope, not buying it. Instinct tells me that was pure Brass."

A small chuckle eased the tension that had gripped the table in the wake of his story. The house lights blinked to alert the audience that the next set was about to begin. Settling back into his chair, Jim glanced down at their hands, still tightly clasped on the table. His almost untouched drink sat a few inches away, but he quickly decided he'd rather retain his grip on her hand than reach for the glass. Knowing it had been longer than he cared to speculate since the last time he'd found the idea of holding a woman's hand preferable to having another drink, he smiled slightly and draped his other arm across the back of her chair, slowly shifting it so that it curled over her shoulder. He didn't fail to notice that she made no effort to move away or free her hand from his grasp.

-----

6-28-2009


	3. Chapter 3 Second Chance City

Title: From a Fountain, Chapter 3

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he'd find her. JB/OFC

_"Water from a fountain quenches the excessive heat which would destroy this life."_  
_Nicola Salvi_

_From a Fountain_**,** Chapter 3 --- Second Chance City

-----

"You're in an awfully good mood."

Looking up from the stacks of paperwork littering his desk, Brass smiled in greeting to his friend and colleague. "This is Vegas, baby. Way stranger things have been known to happen."

Moving out of habit to the chair across the desk from the veteran policeman, Catherine Willows took a moment to study the smirk that warned those that knew Brass, the real Jim Brass, to tread with care. "OK, I give. What's up?"

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Brass leaned back in his chair and fixed the CSI with a deliberately innocent grin. "Other than we're nearing the end of our shift and we've so far managed to avoid any calls involving dead babies or their too young mothers, you'll have to tell me. I've been stuck in my office all night doing paperwork."

Nodding slightly, Catherine hesitated briefly before offering him three files. "Sorry… here's a few more for the stack. We've finished most of the work-up on the Fahey murders. Autopsy proves Daniel Fahey is the one that killed the baby… bruises match his hand span. Her parents' hands weren't big enough to have left the marks. He snapped Rose's neck instantly… Doc Robbins doubts she suffered."

Sighing, Jim dropped his hands as he sat upright, the last trace of his previous good mood vanished from his features. "Maybe not, but Carrie sure did."

"Blood spatter around the basket they used as her crib is consistent with the description of events Carrie gave in her statement. Empty baby bottle on the couch covered in Fahey's prints. Stab wounds were to his back… three punctures; scissors lacerated his heart and punctured the left lung and spinal column respectively," the scientist continued. "There's also no doubt Fahey killed Patrick McKissick. TOD was around 9. Carrie's boss told you she worked from 5 to midnight and then had an hour's ride home on the bus. GSR on Fahey's hand… gun in his pocket that matches the murder weapon… splatter on the front of his shirt and shoes matches Derrick's DNA."

"Well, that should make the DA's decision an easy one. Carrie acted to try and save her daughter's life… justifiable homicide," Brass concluded. "Fahey's dead, so that closes the other two."

"Evidence supports that decision," Catherine agreed. "Have you heard what's going to happen to her?"

"Her mother arrived over the weekend," Brass offered, reaching for his ever-present cup of coffee. "Sophia talked to her. Said she plans to sell everything they own in Wyoming… take Carrie and her other daughter somewhere as far from there as they can get. The whole family needs counseling… Carrie most of all. Hope they get it."

Sighing, Catherine observed, "We can only hope, but… she's never going to get over loosing her baby right in front of her eyes."

-----

_The sudden heat of the night air was a shock to the senses after the cool twilight of the lounge. After twenty years of calling Vegas home, Jim expertly estimated the temperature was still in the upper 80's. Glancing to his right, he stifled a grin as his companion giggled at the sight of the swarming mass of humanity walking the Strip._

_Apparently, he hadn't been as successful in the effort as he had hoped. Glittering hazel eyes locked with his as she reminded him, "I warned you!"_

_The grin won. "Have I said a word?"_

_Tightening her hold on the curve of his arm, Julie began to laugh just as he had hoped. He'd decided several hours earlier that he could become addicted to the sound… not to mention the golden halo in the center of her hazel eyes that seemed to glow when she was amused. "Smirking counts."_

"_Ah… you forgot to warn me about that part," he teased, settling his hand over hers in a subconscious attempt to stake his claim. "Maybe we need to walk around a bit before we call it a night. I'm beat, so a little exercise and fresh air might help me focus for the drive home. Luckily, I don't have too far to go."_

_Hoping to sound casual, he added, "You are going to let me give you a ride home aren't you?"_

_Dropping her head to stare at the sidewalk, she demurred, "I don't want to inconvenience…"_

"_You won't," he insisted. "It's late. I'll sleep better knowing you're home safe and sound…giggles and all."_

_It was the lack of an amused response that tipped him off to the fact she was trying to avoid looking his way. Biting her lip, she shook her head. "Really…it's not a problem. I can take the bus and be there in no time. It stops…" _

"_Look… I'm the first to admit my manners can be a little rough around the edges, but no way I'm comfortable letting a lady take a bus home at this hour of the night," he insisted, disappointed by the obvious fact she didn't want him to have her address. That could only mean… "If you're worried I'll show up on your doorstep… make a pest of myself, I can take a hint. I'll drop you off and that will be the end of it."_

_Surprised hazel eyes lifted to meet his serious expression. Julie was quick to note that all traces of his earlier good mood had been wiped away. "That's not… I'd like to see you again. It's just…"_

_Pulling her to a stop, Jim let the confusion he was feeling show. "It's what, Julie? If you're willing to see me again, why the big brush-off?"_

_He had to lean a little closer to hear her over the speakers blasting music from a nearby club. "I don't want you to see where I'm living. I'm embarrassed by it, but… it's the best I can do for now… OK?" _

"_So you don't live in a palace," he responded. "My house is OK, but hardly the Taj Mahal."_

_Sighing, she finally admitted, "It's a dump. Until I can save enough for something better, I'm living in one of those old travel courts near McCaron… a furnished efficiency, but… the place is pretty shabby. Satisfied?"_

_Finally hearing the embarrassment in her voice, Jim took a moment to decide how to proceed with what was obviously a touchy subject. Studying her profile, he noted the tense set of her features… her entire body. "Some of those places aren't safe for a woman on her own. Hell, some of those places I don't go in alone."_

"_Tell me about it… but I don't have much choice. I had a job lined up when I got here, but relocation expenses took most of what I had managed to set aside for the last few years. On top of that, I had to rent a storage unit for my stuff, so money's tight," she admitted, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's only temporary. My boss offered to divert some of my salary to a housing fund so it doesn't show up in my paycheck. I should have enough saved by fall to move… but, until then, it's the best I can afford."_

_Puzzled, Jim steered her toward a low wall separating the sidewalk from a parking lot. Urging her to sit, he pressed, "Why would your boss need to do that? You don't strike me as the type of person that needs someone else to manage her money or help her save… just the opposite. You clearly have no interest in gambling from your reaction to the casino... so…"_

_Sighing, she seemed to sag into herself. "Long ugly story."_

_Gentle fingers titled her head so their eyes could meet. "You listened to mine. Floor's yours, beautiful. Tell me."_

"_You don't want…"_

"_Yeah, I do, so tell me. I promise I won't judge you for whatever happened."_

_A slightly panicked look preceded, "Short version… messy divorce lead to an even messier aftermath."_

_Nodding, Jim calmly admitted, "Been down that road myself."_

"_I somehow doubt it was as bad as mine," she muttered, pulling her chin free of his hold and dropping her eyes to her hands… the fingers of which were busily bunching and un-bunching the front of her skirt._

"_OK, you're on… let's look at the facts and compare notes," he teased, hoping to get her to open up. "I married my high school sweetheart the year I joined the force. I'd just graduated from Seton Hall…done a couple of tours in Viet Nam. It seemed like it was time to settle down and get serious about my life."_

_Sighing, he admitted, "To be honest, the marriage didn't grow up with us… youthful infatuation and sex doesn't give you much to work with if you don't have anything else in common. I was more interested in making the grade as a cop than as a husband and… looking back, I know I deserve a lot of the blame for us failing. I was never there… used work to avoid her and our problems. Nancy wanted more… deserved more… not to mention our daughter."_

_Sighing, he offered, "I adored Ellie, but I wasn't there for her either. She became the only reason I'd bother going home at all. I suspected… hell, I knew Nancy was cheating on me with another cop… one she had been going with while I was in the Marines, but… it was still a blow to learn Ellie isn't mine… at least not biologically. She's mine in all the ways that matter. I was afraid Nancy would use her paternity against me to block my getting visitation so I struck it out. I figured a bad marriage was better than no marriage… stupid, right?" _

_A slightly lopsided smile greeted her gaze as she hesitantly looked up. "Anyway, I finally had enough and told her I wanted the divorce when I found out she was still seeing him behind my back… bastard was a vice cop I worked with if things weren't bad enough. He was married to a girl from my old neighborhood, sweet girl who deserved better than that bastard. Nancy didn't want to loose her meal ticket… threatened to use Ellie's paternity to block me from seeing her, so I retaliated and cheated on her… something I'm not proud of, but we're trading tales of marital woe, so I have to come clean, right?"_

"_I'm sorry, Jim," she whispered. "That must have been tough."_

"_It was," he agreed. "While all of this was happening, I uncovered proof that O'Toole… the sperm donor, was dirty… which led me to a snake-pit in the middle of the Newark PD." _

_Reaching up to rub his neck, Jim recalled, "I was in homicide by that point, but… some things you just can't turn your back on, so I did a lame impression of Serpico and blew the whistle. That's where I earned myself the tag, 'Squeaky'."_

_Staring at the ground under their feet, Brass took a moment to decide how to continue his story. "When the whole thing hit the press, it blew up in my face… got pretty ugly. My credibility was attacked… gossip about my affair gave Nancy the excuse she'd been looking for to divorce me on her terms… cleaning me out and taking Ellie in the process. The fact she was cheating too came out during his trial, but not that I wasn't her father. Ellie was only eight… had been through enough not to need that made public and… I love her, so I don't want her to know."_

"_In the end, I managed to bust up the corruption, but it cost me… guys I'd known for years on the force never trusted me again. Ellie was angry and confused… didn't understand what was happening around her. The woman I was having the affair with took off to LA… joined the force there. That might have gone somewhere if Annie'd stuck around, but she didn't… probably best for both of us. In the end, there was nothing left for me there," he concluded. "I decided I needed a change and I moved here hoping to start over. Locals call Vegas 'Second Chance City' for good reason."_

_Mid way through his monologue, Julie had reached out to take his hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, she asked, "Do you ever see your daughter?"_

"_Yeah…I went to see her as often as I could while she was growing up, but… being on the other side of the country made it next to impossible for me to make much of a difference in her life. When she turned 16, she told me not to bother coming to see her again. I agreed to stay away until she said otherwise… in retrospect, a big mistake, but, at the time, I thought it was best for her," he admitted, the guilt he felt over that decision clouding his eyes, making them seem more black than blue.. _

"_Ellie eventually showed up out here after she'd gotten hooked on drugs and was acting as a drug mule for the looser she was shacking up with. It was a mess… almost lost my job trying to help her, but she went back east to live with her mom once the dust settled… been bouncing around the country since… is in LA now. Things between us are pretty rocky… she's a recovering addict… refuses every attempt I've make to try to help," he confessed, unable to meet her gaze as he shared the last part of his story. "I found her working the streets… doesn't get much worse than that, I guess." _

"_She's still mad as hell at me for the divorce… for working too much when she was little… for missing so much of her life while I was avoiding her mom and trying to save the world. I moved out here when she still needed me… when I might still have made that up to her." Sighing, he added, "My daughter got lost in the whole mess Nancy and I made of our marriage. I didn't mean for it to turn out like that but… She's been in and out of trouble for years now, but… I keep trying… hoping it will get better before…before it's too late."_

_The grip on his hand tightened painfully, reminding him she had lost her own child… hers to war. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me…"_

_Shaking her head, she interjected, "No, it wasn't. Don't give up on her, Jim. It sounds like you're the only one she can count on. She needs you."_

"_Yeah… her biological father is still in jail last I heard," Jim offered. "Nancy… she was a lousy wife… not much better as a mother. Ellie moves around a lot… calls once in a while. I'll do whatever it takes, but she has to decide to let me help… that she's ready to make the effort or it won't work. I keep expecting to get a call telling me she's back on drugs… or dead."_

"_Don't give up on Ellie, Jim," she repeated. "Don't wait. Losing her love is bad, but losing her forever… you never get over that. Force it if you have to, but don't let her go without a fight!"_

-----

"Loosing your child… you never get over that," he repeated, looking up to find Catherine's probing stare fixed on his face. "What?"

Intrigued, but biding her time, she settled back into her chair. "Nothing… other than the fact you zoned out for several minutes. Want to talk about whatever is bothering you?"

Shaking his head, Brass dodged the question. "Ellie… I was thinking about Ellie. Nothing new to talk about there. So…"

-----

7-15-2009


End file.
